


These lives of ours (are a fickle thing)

by littleramblings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: DeanCas but can be interpreted as Gen, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:24:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleramblings/pseuds/littleramblings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas remembers Dean's soul, it was bright and torn and beautiful in a sad, sad way – he thinks Dean looks like that in person, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These lives of ours (are a fickle thing)

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a post floating around tumblr saying that since angels see souls rather than faces, Cas will be seeing Dean's face for the first time when they reunite in S9. Through that, this was born.

 

The first time Castiel sees Dean's face, it's frowned with confusion, anger, hurt. They've reunited at a crossroads, Cas having made his way out of the woods and onto the main road within an hour; he remembers the creation of this city and knows the ways in and out well. Dean thinks it's unfair, thinks the Universe or God or whatever fucked up thing that's in charge has a twisted sense of humour, having him nearly drive past Castiel at the side of the road a third time. Sam isn't doing too well, laying across the back seat and Dean knows they can't stop for long, that they have to get back to the bunker and patch him up in whatever way they can as soon as possible, but he needs to make sure. He needs to touch.

 

Castiel doesn't react when Dean reaches out, gripping his shoulder firmly as he had so many times before, yet he's reminded of a time years ago, standing under a street light with a 'never change' uttered as both a promise and a request. “Dean.”

 

Dean shakes his head, dropping his hand as he lets out a breath of a laugh. Cas doesn't react when Dean hits him, either. “You son of a bitch.”

 

Cas remembers Dean's soul, it was bright and torn and beautiful in a sad, sad way – he thinks Dean looks like that in person, too.

 

“We thought you were fallin'. You left without a word, _again,_ and I thought we lost you.” Dean continues. “I thought you were gone, Cas! I mean, what part of ' _we need you'_ don't you _understand_?”

 

And he knows they can't do this, not now. Dean knows they don't have the luxury of time and he knows his brother needs him, Kevin needs him, the whole god-damn world needs him because hell is still open and Demons don't take holidays, but what _he_ needs is five minutes. Just five minutes.

 

“I couldn't stop Metatron.” Castiel informs, voice lighter now than it had been before, and he feels so incredibly human. “His actions were... unpredictable. Naomi was right, they were not trials. It was a spell and my grace was the final ingredient. I'm sorry, Dean.” A pause, and then - “You told me you didn't require my help.”

 

Three minutes.

 

“Your grace. You mean you're –”

 

“No longer an Angel? Yes.”

 

Dean lets out a breath. “Wow.” Castiel's brows furrow as though he can't possibly understand what's good about any of this, and Dean suddenly feels heavier, his muscles wound tight. Because Cas is human now. He's human, the angels aren't in heaven, and there's a moment of wonder as to why this feels like deja vu before Dean remembers why.

 

“You know,” he says, softer than normal, and he can't bring his gaze up to meet with Cas'. It's a shame, really, because Cas hasn't identified the right shade of green yet. “Sometimes needing someone ain't linked to needing their help.”

 

He's never told anybody about 2014. Not even Sammy, _especially not Sammy,_ and Dean had sworn that he'd never let himself become the man that sent his friends to the slaughter block – he'd sworn he'd never let Cas become what he had. Could. Whatever.

 

“Oh.”

They stand there in silence for a minute (could have been five seconds, could have been an hour. Dean knows it's closer to the former) and suddenly it's time up. They should continue this later, Dean thinks, in the bunker over beer and coffee, but they won't. They can't afford another five minutes.

 

“Get in the car, Cas. You're riding shotgun.”


End file.
